too far on your valuable space.

Henry H. Breen.

St. Lucia.

SIR WALTER SCOTT AND HIS QUOTATIONS FROM HIMSELF.

Your correspondent A. J. Dunkin (Vol. viii., p. 622.) asks who was the author of the couplet,—

In reply to which Query you refer him to the juvenile efforts of Frank Osbaldiston in the delightful novel of Rob Roy.

You might have referred him likewise to a corresponding passage in the sixth canto of Marmion, sec. xxxiii., from which the accomplished poet and novelist repeated inadvertently his own verses:

I say "inadvertently" from any own knowledge. A few months after the well-known occurrence at a public dinner in Edinburgh, when Sir W. Scott openly declared himself the author of the Waverley Novels, the writer of these lines was staying at Abbotsford on a visit. On one occasion, when walking with Sir Walter about his grounds, I led the conversation to his late revelations; and while expressing some wonder at the length of time during which the secret of the authorship had been kept, I ventured to say that I for one had never felt the smallest doubt upon the matter, but that the intrinsic evidence of these several works, acknowledged and unacknowledged, had long ago convinced me that they were written by one and the same author. Among other points I quoted the very lines in question from the elegy on the death of the Black Prince in Rob Roy, which I reminded Sir Walter might also be found in their sixth canto of Marmion. "Ah! indeed," he replied, with his natural expression of comic gravity, "that was very careless of me! I did not think I should have committed such a blunder!"

We kept up the like strain of conversation during the whole ramble, with a good deal of harmless pleasantry. In the course of our walk Sir Walter stopped at a particular point, and leaning on his staff like his own "Antiquary," he pointed out some ancient earth-works, whose undulating surface indicated the traces of a Roman or Pictish encampment. "There," said he, "you

will perceive the remains of a very good camp." "Yes, Sir," said I, in the words of Lovel, "I do see something like a ditch indistinctly marked." Sir Walter burst into a hearty fit of laughter, saying, "Ay, my friends do call it the Kairn of Kimprunes."

I trust your readers will forgive me for recording these trivialities; but Mr. Dunkin's Query recalled them to my mind so forcibly after the lapse of many years, that I venture to obtrude them upon your notice.

Before I conclude this paper, I may be permitted to make reference to a series of letters addressed to Richard Heber, Esq., M.P., by Mr. Adolphus, son of the historian of the reign of George III. In the conversation referred to, Sir Walter Scott mentioned these letters in terms of high approbation,—terms not undeserved; for a more elegant, ingenious, and convincing piece of literary criticism never issued from the press.

At that time I had not seen it; but in reference to the passage in question, the coincidence of which in the poem and the romance has not escaped the critic's acuteness, Mr. Adolphus makes the following remarks:

"A refined speculator might perhaps conceive that so glaring a repetition could not be the effect of inadvertence, but that the novelist, induced by some transient whim or caprice, had intentionally appropriated the verses of his great cotemporary. I cannot, however, imagine any motive for such a proceeding, more especially as it must appear somewhat unhandsome to take possession of another man's lines for the mere purpose of exhibiting them in a ridiculous light. Nor does it seem to me at all unlikely that the author of Marmion, supposing him to be also the author of Rob Roy, should have unconsciously repeated himself in this instance, for we find him more than once apologising in his avowed works for having, in the haste of composition, snatched up expressions, and even whole lines, of other writers."

The anecdote above recorded proves the justice and refinement of the critic's speculation.

A Borderer.

THOMAS CAMPBELL.

In a small 8vo. volume before me, entitled The History of the Stage: in which is included the Theatrical Characters of the most celebrated Actors who have adorned the Theatre, &c.; with the Theatrical Life of Mr. Colly Cibber (Lond. 1742), I notice a very remarkable similarity of thought and expression between its author and the late Thomas Campbell. The dramatic author writes thus:

"But with whatever strength of nature we see the poet show at once the philosopher and the hero, yet the image of the actor's excellence will still be imperfect to you, unless language could put colours into words to paint the voice with.

"The most that a Vandyke can arrive at is to make his portraits of great persons seem to think; a Shakspeare goes farther yet, and tells you what his picture thought; a Betterton steps beyond them both, and calls them from the grave to breathe and be themselves again, in feature, speech, and motion. When the skilful actor shows you all these powers at once united, and gratifies at once your eye, your ear, your understanding,—to conceive the pleasure arising from such harmony you must have been present at it; 'tis not to be told you."

Now compare this passage with the following lines from Mr. Campbell's "Valedictory Stanzas to J. P. Kemble, Esq.," composed for a public meeting held June, 1817:

Serviens.

FOLK LORE.

Legends of the Co. Clare (Vol. viii., p. 436.).—The Lake of Inchiquin, one legend of which has been already published in "N. & Q.," is said to have been once a populous and flourishing city, and still on a calm night you may see the towers and spires gleaming through the clear wave. But for some dreadful and unabsolved crime, a holy man of those days whelmed all beneath the deep waters. The "dark spirit" of its king, who ruled also over the surrounding country, resides in a cavern in one of the hills which border the lake, and once every seven years at midnight, he issues forth mounted on his white charger, and urges him at full speed over hill and crag, until he has completed the circuit of the lake; and thus he is to continue, till the silver hoofs of his steed are worn out, when the curse will be removed, and the city reappear in all its splendour. The cave extends nearly a mile under the hill; the entrance is low and gloomy, but the roof rises to a considerable height for about half the distance, and then sinks down to a narrow passage, which leads into a somewhat lower division of the cave. The darkness, and the numbers of bats which flap